


Too competitive for yoga

by hilarycantdraw



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 22:37:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9261077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hilarycantdraw/pseuds/hilarycantdraw
Summary: There is nothing Jack wouldn't do to make sure he's playing his best hockey, he'll even take ballet lessons. He expects six weeks of boredom as he memorizes some new exercises to improve his ankle strength and his flexibility. Instead, he gets an attractive blond instructor who draws Jack out of his own head, one hour at a time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about hockey, so my first contribution to this fandom revolves around three things I know very well: ballet, social anxiety, and how terrible driving in the Cambridge area is (I swear I almost got an ulcer driving to the Somerville Target once). 
> 
> I based Jack's progress off of the jocks who were in a ballet I course that I helped TA in college.
> 
> Also, the inspiration for this fic was [this](http://pawspaintsnthings.tumblr.com/post/154266027071/au-where-lonely-falconers-jack-who-still-works) fanart.
> 
> Also, also, Bitty has an entire backstory that I made up that didn't fit in here (including why we don't see him use his nickname in this fic! Fun fact: it's just for professionalism's sake), so I might possibly write more someday if people like this. Don't hold me to that though, my writing inspiration is flighty AF.

“You want me to what?” Jack stared at Ken, the Falconers’ trainer, hoping he’d misheard.

“I want you to take a ballet class for at least six weeks, enough time to pick up the basics so you can work on some exercises at home.” Ken said, as calm as he always was. “The sprain you’re getting over wasn’t that bad, but soon you’re not going to bounce back like you used to. Increasing your flexibility and targeting your ankles for strength-building could help prevent a worse injury in the future.” 

When Jack’s expression remained incredulous, Ken sighed, “Can you at least try one class before giving it a hard no? It’s this or yoga, but you’re too competitive for yoga and ballet will help your ankles more, anyhow.” 

“Is it possible to be too competitive for yoga?” Jack thought that yoga was supposed to be something almost anyone could do. 

Ken shrugged, “Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past you. But one of my friends works with dancers around Boston, I could find you a private instructor pretty easily.” 

Since there was very little Jack wouldn’t do to play hockey for as long as his body would let him, Jack gave in.  


* * *

  
That was how he found himself sitting awkwardly in a hallway outside a ballet studio, waiting for the previous class to finish. He made a mental note not to be so early again. The studio was full of kids who looked around eight and the sitting area was full of parents who were eyeing him with curiosity.

“So,” he held back a flinch when one of the more outgoing moms sat in the chair next to him, “you don’t look like a dancer.” 

“Uh, no.” Jack rubbed at the back of his neck, “I play hockey. I’m trying to improve my game.” 

Before she could say anything else, the door to the studio opened and the students spilled out. Jack tried not to look too relieved to get out of making small talk. 

The instructor followed behind the kids, making sure no one forgot their water bottles or warm up clothes. He was smaller than Jack expected, lithe and blond and Jack immediately decided not to think about how the man was exactly his type. His big brown eyes settled on Jack, and he smiled as he walked over. 

“You must be Mister Zimmermann,” he held out his hand, which Jack took. His hand was small, but strong, and Jack had to remind himself to let go as the other man kept talking, “I’m Eric Bittle, I’ll be working with you today. I’m just gonna refill my water but you can head on into the studio and I’ll be right back.” 

“Okay,” Jack smiled awkwardly at the woman who had been talking to him and went into the studio. 

The studio was a wide, open room with sunlight streaming full the windows. It hovered near being too-warm, but Jack wasn’t uncomfortable. 

It was a bit disconcerting, though, staring at himself in the mirror that spanned the length of the entire room showing him more of his body than he was used to seeing on a normal basis. He hovered near the door and put down his bag, not entirely sure where he was supposed to stand. 

“Why don’t you go take a seat in the center of the room,” Eric said as he entered the studio. “Normally, ballet classes start at the barre, but we’ll start with some floor stretches today to see where your flexibility’s at.” 

Jack followed him through some basic stretches, most of which Jack was familiar with, but he wasn’t half as good at them as Eric was. It was to be expected, but he still felt a twinge of jealousy as Eric easily folded himself in half while Jack struggled to touch his toes. Maybe he would have been too competitive for yoga after all. 

“How bad am I?” Jack asked after about ten minutes of quiet stretching. 

“How can you be bad when we’ve barely even started?” Eric’s tone was light but his brow furrowed a bit. “You’re not the most flexible, but I’ve worked with people of all talent levels and there’s always room to improve.” 

Jack nodded, feeling embarrassed at his pettiness. 

Eric stood up, and Jack followed, “We’ll definitely be able to increase your range of motion in your hips and strengthen up your ankles and feet some. I know you already have hockey strength, but these classes should target different muscles. Sound good?” 

“Yeah,” Jack said and Eric smiled and ushered Jack over toward the long piece of wood attached to the wall across from the mirror, the barre Eric called it. 

“Okay, I’m going to face you and I want you to mirror what I’m doing,” Eric said. He stood with his feet together at the heels, toes facing outwards, “This is first position for my feet, and my arm’s in second position.” Jack looked up to see that he was holding one arm out to the side and the other held onto the barre. 

Jack tried to copy the position. 

“That’s not bad, Jack,” Eric said, “but try to turn your whole leg out starting from your hip instead of just forcing your toes out like that. Your knee should be facing the same direction as your toes, it’ll feel better and you won’t accidentally wrench anything. And here,” Jack jumped as Eric reached out to manually re-adjust his arm. 

Eric took his hands away quickly, “Sorry, I should have asked before I just grabbed you like that.” 

“It’s fine,” Jack said, “I just didn’t expect it. You can touch me if you want.” Jack cringed internally as he realized how that sounded. Luckily, Eric didn’t seem to notice and went straight back to adjusting Jack’s arm. 

“Relax your shoulders and curve your arm a bit more… there. And you’re gonna strangle the poor barre, loosen up on the death grip. Your hand should be gently resting on it... that’s good Jack,” Eric said, smiling. 

Jack smiled back, feeling accomplished. That feeling didn’t last long, though. 

By the end of that first class Jack was sweating as much as he did during practice. He hadn’t expected the class to be half as difficult as it had been, but he wasn’t one to back away from a challenge. When Eric asked if he’d be back the following week he didn’t even hesitate before saying yes.  


* * *

  
After three weeks of classes, Jack was frustrated. He was still having trouble mastering the basic moves, really the stepping stones of other moves, and he wasn’t used to being bad at things. At least, he told himself, he’d had no trouble picking up the vocabulary, although it had taken him half the first class to realize that the terms Eric was using were all supposed to be French. With his accent, it had been hard to tell. Unfortunately, actually doing the moves was a different story. Hockey had always come naturally to him. He’d had to work hard to get to the level he was at, but he’d never struggled like this.

“Good, that’s good Jack.” Eric said as he watched Jack balance in first position. 

“It’s taken me three weeks to do one balance your eight year olds could so in their sleep.” Jack said through gritted teeth. 

Eric narrowed his eyes at Jack, but he was still too kind for it to be an outright glare, “Most of those eight year olds have been dancing since they were three. It would be like me trying to play hockey for three weeks and wondering why I wasn’t making the pros yet. Although I at least know how to skate, you’ve never even danced before, right? Your progress has actually been faster than I expected so stop beating yourself up.” 

Jack sighed, “I guess that’s true.” He thought for a moment before adding, “Everyone always says I’m too hard on myself.” 

“Well stop it. I like to keep my classes positive, but if you weren’t trying hard enough I’d say something.” Having said his peace, Eric went back to instructing as if he’d never been interrupted. 

It wasn’t until Jack was putting his things back in his bag that he said, “So you skate?” 

Eric nodded, “Not for a long time now, though. I figure skated until high school, but my family moved and I couldn’t anymore. That’s when I switched to dance and it stuck.” 

“It’s cool that you were able to make a change like that. I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t play hockey.” Jack didn’t mention just how much of his life revolved around hockey, how unfathomable the idea of not being able to play was. How needing to play hockey for as long as possible had led him here in the first place. 

“I’m sure you’d be just fine, Jack.” Eric sounded as if he actually believed it, which just reminded Jack that they still didn’t know each other very well. “Now, review some of those steps when you can and you’ll be ahead of the game next week,” Eric clapped a hand on Jack’s shoulder and smiled.  


* * *

  
That conversation seemed to break some sort of barrier that had been between them. Up until that point every class had been entirely professional. The only small talk they’d made was about the weather and their respective commutes. After he’d asked Eric about the skating, they began talking about more personal things. Eric talked about growing up in the south and figure skating and his college dance company’s antics. Jack talked about, well, hockey. He shared more of his personal hockey stories, though, even making Eric snort-laugh as he talked about a prank that Tater had pulled on Poots earlier that week.

Eric had such a warm presence that Jack found himself talking more with each lesson. Despite being quite chatty himself, Eric proved to be a good listener. 

During their sessions, Eric had also began putting on music. Jack didn’t need quite so much constant instruction now, and it was nice to not be in complete silence. He’d expected classical, piano music, but instead Eric mostly played upbeat Top-40 music. Jack quickly realized that he enjoyed chirping Eric by purposely guessing the wrong artist on each song. It was so easy to wind him up and make him laugh, Jack couldn’t help himself. 

“Is this Justin Bieber?” Jack asked, trying to hide his smirk as it was obviously a woman singing. 

Eric paused in his demonstration and sputtered, “Jack Zimmermann do not blaspheme!” 

“Sorry,” Jack said, laughing despite himself. 

“You know,” Eric said, hand on his hip, “when we started these lessons I thought you were this quiet, serious hockey player. But you’re so silly; you know exactly what you’re doing don’t you?” 

Jack pulled his best innocent expression and shrugged. He was fairly sure that no one had ever called him silly in his life. 

Eric shook his head, trying and failing to look exasperated, “I’m actually going to miss your antics, believe it or not.” 

That stopped Jack cold, “What do you mean, _miss_?” 

“This is our sixth week, Jack. Wasn’t that how many classes you agreed to?” Maybe Jack was imagining it, but Eric seemed disappointed. Maybe he was projecting. 

“Oh.” Jack had stopped counting at some point. 

In only six weeks this had become a part of his routine he looked forward to. An hour and a half in a sunlit room with a man who seemed to embody the sunshine, letting himself talk and joke and not think about hockey. Even though the ballet had been to improve his playing, it had become the one hour a week he let all of his hockey-based concerns go. It wasn’t something he was ready to lose. 

“Could I sign up for another six weeks? I mean, if you don’t already have another class lined up.” 

“No, if you want to keep working together we definitely can,” Eric said and he was smiling again. 

Jack smiled back, “Good, because I’m just starting to be able to do actual moves. I practiced that pirouette preparation for hours at my kitchen counter this week.” That was a slight exaggeration, but not an outright lie. Jack wanted to get better at the moves he’d been learning. He’d moved past feeling inferior and it was nice now to have something to work on that wasn’t hockey. 

“Jack Zimmermann, you work harder than God, I swear,” Eric pushed playfully at his shoulder. 

“It’s the off-season, I have time.” 

“Let’s work on the turns then. Maybe you’ll get all the way around today,” Eric’s smile told Jack that he was being chirped. 

“You’re probably just worried that one of these days I’ll be able to out-turn you,” Jack challenged, egging Eric on. 

Eric smirked, raising his eyebrows accepting the challenge. He set up for and pulled off a pirouette that was so fast Jack couldn’t even count how many times he went around. 

“Okay, okay. I don’t think I’ll beat that, but I might get a double someday though, then you’ll have to start watching out,” Jack said. 

“Sure, Mister Zimmermann, sure,” Eric patted his arm and laughed.  


* * *

  
The next week, there was a pie waiting for Jack.

“I hope you like maple apple,” Eric said as he handed it over. “I mean everyone likes apple, and you’re Canadian, so the maple. But really, I should have asked you about allergies, I just sometimes can’t help but make a pie and all of my friends have already gotten one this month so-” 

“Thank you, Eric,” Jack took pity and interrupted Eric’s nervous rambling, “I really appreciate it. And I have no food allergies, so it’s fine.” 

“Good,” Eric said, beaming up at Jack. He looked so incredibly pleased that Jack couldn’t help the way his stomach flipped at the sight. For weeks, he’d been doing such a good job of ignoring how attractive Eric was in his tight t-shirts and his tiny shorts, but Jack had to admit to himself that this had become more than a physical attraction. Eric was so kind and funny and now he’d gone and baked Jack a pie. Jack realized that he was well on his way to developing a serious crush. “Now, if you can tell me who’s singing this first song we’ll only do half of a développé combination at the barre today.” 

Jack never looked forward to the way his legs shook as he tried to hold his développés, but he’d much rather see Eric laugh than avoid them. As soon as Eric hit play on the music, he shouted out, “Taylor Swift.” 

It worked, Eric immediately cracked up, “You absolute goof. This is Beyoncé. If you don’t recognize her by now, you might be absolutely hopeless.” 

“I guess you’ll have to keep teaching me, then,” Jack said with a smile. 

Eric grinned and shook his head, “Guess so. We’ll get you caught up to the twenty-first century one of these days, I promise. Now, let’s get started.”  


* * *

  
“Brah, did you really bring us pie?” Shitty said as he opened the door to his apartment. Jack had worked lunch with Shitty into his schedule after Shitty had found out that Jack had been driving to Cambridge on a weekly basis without telling him.

Now, after each class, Jack would drive to Shitty’s apartment in Somerville, which he still couldn’t find without his GPS and even then made several wrong turns along the way. The Greater Boston Area had probably been city-planned by a sadist. It was a testement to his and Shitty’s friendship that he white-knuckled his way over each week. Sometimes, Ransom, Holster, or Johnson would be home, but most of the time it was just Shitty. It was nice getting to see Shitty regularly again. Jack got along well with most of the Falconers, but none of them could ever replace Shitty. 

“My instructor gave it to me, but I’ll never eat the whole thing by myself,” Jack said, letting Shitty take the pie out of his hands as they moved toward the kitchen. 

Shitty lifted the pie dish to inspect it closer, “Holy shit, this smells amazing. He made this just for you?” 

“Yeah. It’s maple apple flavored,” Jack said, as if that was vital information. 

“This is the same guy who chirps you all the time, right?” Shitty asked, and Jack nodded, unsure where he was going with this. “When do I get to come see one of your classes?” 

That wasn’t what Jack expected, “What? Why?” 

Shitty placed the pie on the counter and reached out to grab Jack’s shoulder, “I want to support you, man. And you’ve been at it long enough to not totally suck, right? And I wanna meet this baker guy, you’ve made him sound awesome.” 

Jack considered it for a minute. Even though he wasn’t sure about letting anyone watch his ballet lessons, Shitty would never actually make fun of him even if he did completely suck. And Shitty was better with people than Jack was. Letting people meet Shitty was usually a good ice-breaker, it showed people that Jack was capable of more than just being a hockey robot. 

“I’ll ask,” he finally said, and Shitty let out an excited whoop. 

“I can’t wait. You know, Holster’s been on a trash TV binge and I’ve been secondhand watching so many episodes of Dance Moms. I am so ready for this,” Shitty said, causing Jack to reflect on the choices he’d made to lead him to this situation. 

“Now,” Shitty continued, “are we ordering in, or can I convince you to leave the house?” As Shitty waxed on about a new Poke restaurant in Davis, honestly Jack wasn’t even sure what that was, he wondered just what he was getting himself into.  


* * *

  
“Would it be, uh, weird, if I brought a friend to watch next week’s lesson?” Jack asked during his next class with Eric.

Eric obviously had no idea what he was agreeing to, because he smiled and said, “Not at all! People observe classes all the time. I mean, usually it’s just kids’ parents who come, but I think it’ll be fine if your friend wants to come.”  


* * *

  
Which was how, one week later, he ended up waiting outside the studio with an all-too-excited Shitty. The parents of the children in the class before Jack’s had gotten used to Jack’s presence over the past weeks and usually exchanged polite greetings with him, but had stopped trying to force any conversation.

But Shitty could and would make conversation with any person, or person-shaped object (if he was high enough), he came across, leaving Jack to flush with embarrassment as Shitty kept patting him on the shoulder saying, “Yep, this one right here is mine. I’m so proud of him. I think he’s going to be at the top of the pyramid this week. Of course he is, since it’s a private lesson, but even if it wasn’t he doesn’t rest until he’s the best.” 

When everyone in the room just stared at him with complete confusion, he said, “Is a pyramid not a normal thing that happens? Is it just a Dance Moms thing?” 

One of the women, Jack thought her name might be Laurie, finally broke the tension, “Oh, I love Dance Moms! It’s so terrible, and no it’s not realistic at all, no pyramids here, but I just can’t help but keep watching it.” 

Jack felt a little jealous as Shitty chatted with the group of women. He made talking to strangers seem so easy, when Jack could barely stammer out a hello to new people. 

Finally, the studio door opened and the kids ran out. Jack didn’t know how they could be so energetic after an hour long dance class, but they chattered to their parents at full speed as they got ready to leave. 

Eric came out of the room last and waved at Jack, walking over to him and Shitty, “Hi Jack, this must be your friend?” 

“Yeah, this is, uh,” Jack glanced around at the children who were still in earshot and pitched his voice to a whisper, “Shitty Knight.” 

Eric’s eyebrows lifted, but he smiled as Shitty enthusiastically reached out and shook his hand, “Dude, thank you so much for the pie. I mean, I know it was for Jack, but he was kind enough to share since he normally doesn’t even do sweets. It was so good, though. He ate three slices on his own after lunch, the rest of us only got one each, but I guess that was fair since it was his pie.” 

Jack could feel himself blushing, but Eric just laughed and said, “I’m glad you liked it. I bake way more than my roommate and I can eat, and all of us on the company are supposed to be sticking to nutrition plans, so if you ever want any other baked treats just let me know.” 

“Really?” Shitty looked as if he’d just won the lottery, “Give me your number. I have an apartment full of ex-hockey players and we would be honored to eat anything you give us.” He fished his phone out of his pocket and held it out to Eric with a pleading expression. And Eric actually took the phone and entered his number, just that easy. 

“Well, we’ve gotta get started,” Eric said, giving Shitty’s phone back. 

“Yeah, you do! You go get it Jack! Dance like no one’s watching! Even though I’m totally going to be watching,” Shitty hollered. 

“Indoor voice, please, Mister Knight,” Eric said, with a teasing glare before closing the studio door. 

“Sorry about him,” Jack said as Eric got his music ready, “he’s just… excited to be here.” 

“It’s fine,” Eric said with a smile that was genuine. “Anyone who loves pie that much is alright in my book. How’d you guys get to be friends?” 

Jack shrugged, “We were on the same hockey team in college. I guess it was kind of an opposites attract thing. He was loud enough to make up for how quiet I was and I’ve always been the only person who could talk him out of doing anything really stupid, so.” 

“That’s kinda like me and my best friend. She’s pretty stoic, while I can never seem to shut up. And she’s definitely stopped my drunk self from doing many things I would’ve regretted,” Eric said. 

“Like what?” Jack couldn’t help but ask. 

Eric laughed, “Like the time I’d had a few too many tequila shots and decided to try to make a bombe Alaska. Which is a dessert that involves pouring flaming alcohol over the finished product. Without Lardo, I’d probably have lost my eyebrows that night.” 

“Shitty did burn his eyebrows off once. He tried to write what he called a ‘fire note’ by pouring rubbing alcohol on the kitchen floor and lighting it. There’s still a barely legible note about my ass in our old frat house’s kitchen because he burnt the top layer of the linoleum off.” Jack made sure to tell the story loud enough to be heard through the studio window, turning to look straight at Shitty. 

“Excuse you, Jack Laurent Zimmermann,” Shitty said through the glass, “I don’t know where you get off telling these stories about me. I only burned one eyebrow off, thank you very much. You’re the one who stood back and let Holster convince me that it’d look better if I just shaved the right one off too.” 

Eric was doubled over laughing, “Jack, you didn’t!” 

Jack was laughing too, “He deserved it for almost burning the Haus down. That place was basically a fire trap waiting to happen.” 

“The Haus was completely up to code, no matter what Jack will make you think,” Shitty argued. 

“Okay, okay,” Eric said, getting his breath back, “we’ve really gotta get started now.” 

“Sorry,” Jack said, not actually feeling sorry at all because Eric was all smiling and flushed and Jack wished he could make Eric laugh like that all the time. 

“Is he always such a trouble maker?” Eric asked Shitty. 

“No,” Shitty said, looking surprised to be asked, then gazing thoughtfully toward Jack, “I’ve never seen him like this before.” 

Jack glanced down at the floor, feeling himself blush. 

“Well,” Eric said, “I guess ballet brings out the best in you.” 

Except, Jack was pretty sure it wasn’t the ballet at all.  


* * *

  
Things continued to go well between him and Eric. Jack felt himself opening up, teasing and being teased in return. Both Jack and Eric started sharing more small personal details of their lives, gradually working toward the bigger things.

Jack told Eric about his overdose. Eric told Jack that his father had never been to a single performance of his. They took turns talking and listening. Eric brought him something baked weekly after the pie and Jack shared what he didn’t finish with Shitty. Jack brought Eric a couple of history books that had sections about cooking during different time periods. 

And then offseason ended and preseason was starting in earnest and Jack realized that there was no way he’d be able to keep weekly Saturday morning lessons, especially with the commute from Providence to Cambridge. 

«I wish that I could find the time, but my schedule is just too tight,» he told his father one night on the phone. 

His father hummed, «You know, I never expected you to like those lessons so much.» 

«Me neither,» Jack admitted, «but it’s helping with my flexibility and strength, and honestly making me analyze my technique on the ice in an entirely new way. I haven’t thought about the tiny movements that make up everything I do on-ice in years. It’s like seeing hockey in whole new way.» 

«Well, you can always pick it back up next off season. Try to practice what you already know when you have downtime.» 

Jack sighed. It was the most reasonable solution, but it wasn’t just the ballet he was going to miss. «I guess. I’m going to miss Eric, though.» 

«Eric?» 

«My instructor. He’s… he’s nice.» That was an understatement. «I’ll miss seeing him every week.» 

His dad made that considering hum noise again before asking, «What’s he like?» 

Jack hadn’t been expecting that question. «Oh, uh, he’s friendly. Southern. He talks a lot, but he listens too. He was a figure skater before he was a dancer. And he bakes. He brought me a whole pie once, and cookies or muffins every week after that.» 

«Why don’t you ask for his phone number? That way you could keep in touch.» 

«I… actually hadn’t thought of that,» Jack admits, feeling a bit stupid, especially since Shitty had apparently been texting Eric for weeks now. 

«Or, you could ask him out.» 

«What? Papa, I don’t even know if he...» _Likes men. Likes me. Is single._ Jack wasn’t sure what he meant to end that sentence with. 

«You know what your uncle says. You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.» It sounded like his dad was smiling. «If that’s what your heart is telling you to do, well, your last lesson is Saturday, right? You have until then to decide.» 

The rest of their conversation was a blur. Jack couldn’t stop thinking about what his dad had said about Eric. It was definitely possible that Eric would be receptive to being friends. It seemed like he genuinely enjoyed hanging out with Jack. But then again, Jack was paying him, so maybe he felt like he had to be. 

Asking him on a date was infinitely scarier. Although, if he said no, Jack could just never see him again. He could find other ballet classes next spring to try. But the idea of never seeing Eric again was hard to consider. In only one hour a week, he’d managed to slip under Jack’s defenses, under Jack’s skin. 

So he did what he always did when he needed to make a decision, he asked for Shitty’s opinion. 

_Should I ask Eric on a date?_ His text said. 

Shitty called him within thirty seconds, “Fuck yes, you should!” 

“Really?” Jack asked, but he appreciated Shitty’s enthusiasm. 

“Well, wait until he’s not contractually obligated to spend time with you, just in case, and because cornering people at work is rude. But next week’s your last class right? You should ask then. I don’t think he’ll say no.” 

“But what if he’s just been being nice this whole time?” 

Shitty paused for a moment, “It’s possible. But when I went with you a few weeks ago he really seemed to like you, it didn’t seem like he was acting. And honestly, I’ve never seen you that way around anyone before. You seem really comfortable around him, Jack. I think that’s something worth trying for.” 

Jack sighed, “That’s what my dad said.” 

“Of course he did,” Shitty said, triumphant, “Bad Bob and I are, like, totally on the same wavelength when it comes to your happiness, bro.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Jack said, hoping that Shitty was right. 

“Now, go and think about it for the next six days and let me know how it goes on Saturday. If he says yes, you have to bring him to the end of summer mini-kegster that we’re hosting. The boys are gonna love him.” 

As Jack sat in his empty apartment, he stared at his kitchen and imagined Eric’s head bent over the counter, creating something delicious and definitely not on Jack’s diet plan. He imagined Eric’s music floating through the open rooms, Eric’s laughter when Jack got the singers’ names purposely wrong. More than that, he imagined having someone as warm as Eric to come home to. He imagined supporting Eric and being supported in return. Years of dance performances and hockey games seemed to unfurl in front of him, and he wanted it. The payoff of Eric’s potential “yes” was worth more than the potential pain of a “no.”  


* * *

  
Having made that decision didn’t help Jack be any less nervous about it, though. He spent the entirety of his last lesson feeling jumpy. Eric was always patient, but Jack could tell he knew something was off. Waiting until the end of the hour hadn’t been the best for Jack’s nerves, but he wanted to make sure there was as little pressure on Eric as possible. And he wanted to be able to make a quick escape, if need be.

“I guess that’s it,” Eric said as he finished leading Jack through the reverence. Jack hoped he wasn’t imagining that Eric looked a bit sad as he said, “You’ve improved so much, Jack. You should be really proud of yourself.” 

“Thanks. You’re a really great teacher, Eric.” Jack’s hands were shaking and sweating and he felt like he might throw up. 

“Well, the next time I see you, you’ll probably be on TV. I’m going to try to catch as many games of yours as I can,” Eric was smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes. And this was it. Jack had to say something now. 

“Or we could get dinner? Sometime. Only if you want to,” Jack cringed, that didn’t come out exactly as he had planned. 

“What?” Eric’s eyes went wide, and it looked like he might not be breathing. 

Jack took a deep breath, “Would you like to go on a date with me?” 

“Yes, Jack. I’d love that,” and Eric finally smiled a real smile, wide and so happy that Jack automatically grinned back. 

“‘Swawesome,” Jack said, and Eric looked a bit confused, but still happy, “I guess I’ll see you, then.” Jack reached down and grabbed his bag. 

“Maybe you’d like my number?” Eric said, his chirping smirk planted on his face. 

Jack laughed at himself, “Yeah, that’d be a good idea.” He handed his phone to Eric, who added his number more quickly than Jack could even pull up his contacts list, before handing it back. 

“I’ll text you,” Jack promised as he left. 

“Okay,” Eric said, still smiling, practically glowing in the light that streamed through the windows behind him. 

Jack didn’t even make it to his car before he sent the the message.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found in a half dozen places on tumblr, but [this](https://bittybittle.tumblr.com/) is my check please! blog!


End file.
